


Coach Stiles

by DirtyKnots



Series: Kinktober 2017 [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Coach Stiles Stilinski, Implied Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Jock Derek Hale, Jockstraps, M/M, Massage, Older Stiles, Power Bottom Derek Hale, Riding, Rimming, Teasing, Underage - Freeform, Unsafe Sex, Younger Derek, teacher/student relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyKnots/pseuds/DirtyKnots
Summary: Kinktober2017 - Day 17Blood/Gore|Costume|MassageStiles shouldn't be doing this, any of this. Shouldn't feel like this about a student. But he does.





	Coach Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags.

Stiles runs his fingers through his hair, regretting every decision in his life that led to this moment. Why he decided to come back and teach at BHHS and then agreed to coach is beyond him. He hated high school when he was in it. And yeah, he loved lacrosse, but he also didn't get to actually play it much, so when they said Finstock was leaving and asked if he'd pick up coaching along with teaching his classes, he isn't really sure why he said yes. Even so, things were going fine, they were, he knew the plays even if he never really ran them. They'd have stayed fine if the transfer student hadn't shown up.

Stiles vaguely remembered the kid's family from when he was younger, but they'd all moved away after a fire during his senior year of high school. Apparently they'd decided to come back when the mother - Talia if he remembers right - got a job with the Forestry Service to maintain and regulate the Beacon County Preserve. Stiles vaguely remembered their oldest, Laura, who was a freshman when he was a senior, but he didn't know the names of the others - neither of them had been close enough to his age at that time. And now…now.

Stiles was 26, he'd gone away to college and majored in Sociology with a minor in education. He was planning to get his Master's, get a job at a college hopefully, but then his dad had a heart attack and he moved home to help. He applied at the high school, not really expecting anything, but got lucky that the previous instructor had just put in for retirement - they hadn't even put an ad out yet. At the time it seemed lucky. He'd laugh about it if he didn't want to crawl under his desk and hide.

He takes a deep breath, pulling himself out of his memories, then heads back out of his office and into the locker room. The last few guys from the team are straggling out, showered and changed for the night. All but one, Derek. The kid had pulled a muscle during their last play run through, or so he claimed. Stiles honestly wasn't sure what to do about him anymore. It had been a long month, full of sarcasm and sass, and Stiles was tired. Derek may be only 16, but he was full of fire with a wicked tongue and he knew just how to cut people up with it if he wasn't getting his way. On top of that, he was built like a brick house, solid muscle and stubble. Stiles had almost tested him for steroids before he remembered the kid's uncle (a couple of years above him in school), his dad (oh the fantasies he used to have about that man when he was younger), and their blessed genetics.

The annoying thing was that Derek wasn't just a shit during practice - Stiles had him as a student his AP Sociology class too, and he was smart, so fucking smart, but also such a dick, he'd made another student cry today in class. Stiles had never had such a hate boner in his life, and that was the real problem. He'd always been attracted to the assholes, but he was usually able to hate-fuck them out of his system, but here...Stiles shakes it off as much as he can as he rounds the corner towards the exam benches where Derek's been sitting for the last 20 minutes icing his thigh. 

“Okay Hale, ice off.” Derek's laying back on the table when Stiles reaches him, a grimace on his face. He seems reluctant to move the ice but complies when Stiles taps his wrist. Stiles drops it into a nearby bin before taking hold of Derek's leg, one hand cupping his calf while the other braces gently over his knee. “Alright, I'm gonna help you bend and stretch for a minute, let me know if it hurts too much at any point, okay?” Derek nods and Stiles slowly lifts Derek's leg, forcing the thigh to flex as he bends Derek's knee and pushes it towards his chest. He only gets a few inches before Derek groans and his hands stretch towards Stiles, palms out as if asking him to stop, so he does. There's another groan as he lowers the teen’s leg back to the table. “Shit.” Stiles barely breathes the word out, watches as Derek's face contorts in pain, the kid's hands reaching down to grip at his own thigh.

This is not even remotely close to what he'd thought he signed up for. Stiles turns away for a minute to unlock the sports department’s medical cabinet, dragging out the muscle balm. He takes another deep breath before turning back, wiggling the jar.

“Okay, I think you strained the muscle pretty good, so I'm going to rub some of this in, it's the soothing kind, not the burn-y kind,” he gets a raised eyebrow of disbelief for that but shrugs it off - he wasn't a sports medicine major, isn't sure what the active ingredient are, just knows this one is what he was told to use if there was a muscle pull. He tries to be clinical about it as he hitches the leg of Derek's lacrosse shorts further up his thigh until the muscle is fully exposed. He uncaps the pot and sets it between Derek's legs so he doesn't accidentally knock it over while he works, dipping his fingers in and scooping out a bit, rubbing it between his palms and feeling the icy tingles in his own skin. Another breath and then he's laying his hands on Derek's thigh, applying gentle pressure from the top down the sides. He's doing his damnedest to ignore the noises his actions are eliciting. He knows they're a natural reaction to a massage, especially one that's (hopefully) leaching out the pain.

When his hands start to catch, he applies more balm to them, incorporating soft squeezes into the circular motion, feeling the tension seeping out beneath his palms. His right hand slips when Derek's leg suddenly shifts, spreading open further, his knuckles brushing against a slight bulge before Stiles snatches his hand back like he's been burned. He can feel his cheeks heating up but keeps his face angled down, takes a shuddery breath and reaches his hand back to continue working Derek's thigh, trying to pretend that nothing happened just now. It's all for nothing though, as soon as his hand starts the downward sweep, Derek shifts his leg again, Stiles’ hand slipping until it's pressed against his crotch. Derek hitches his hips up at the same time and there's no mistaking it for an accident with the way he twists them, making sure to rub his bulge into the back of Stiles’ hand. And this...this cannot happen.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but halts when he feels Derek's fingers skimming over his hand. He finally lifts his gaze, sees the way Derek's other hand is trailing up his own torso, shirt sliding up with the movement, revealing his cut abs, dusted in dark hair. His lips are parted, tongue darting out to wet them as Stiles watches, his eyes dark. Stiles can feel his hand being moved until it's cupping Derek's cock through his silky lacrosse shorts. There should be a cup there, but there isn't one, and Stiles can feel the shape of Derek through the fabric, his thumb brushing along the hard length. He can feel his breath catch, knows he should put a stop to this - it's already gone too far, but he's weak. Weaker than he ever thought. Because Derek is beautiful, and smart, and a little bit mean in the same way Stiles is. And Derek, it seems, wants him.

Stiles steps closer to the table, tops of his thighs digging into the edge. His free hand, the one not groping the cock of an underage boy, his mind supplies, is rubbing up and down Derek's thigh. It's mostly relaxed under his touch now and Stiles wonders if Derek was ever really hurt or if it was all an act to get him here. He doesn't ask though. He can't seem to stop himself from shifting the angle of his other hand, cupping Derek better, rolling the stiffness against his palm, fingertips brushing at his swollen balls. 

“We can't…” he trails off when Derek's hand reaches down, brushing against where Stiles’ own hardness is trapped in his jeans.

“Why not?” Derek's voice is a little breathy, his hips rolling minutely beneath Stiles’ hand, and he punctuates the question by turning his hand, fully cupping Stiles’ trapped cock, fingers squeezing a bit, and that's it - every reason for why this is a bad idea flies out of Stiles’ head. Stiles can't stop the whimper he lets out or the way he bucks into Derek's touch. A soft chuckle has him glancing back at Derek's face, looking at the smug expression growing on it, and honestly, fuck that. He'll be damned (as if he isn't now, for this alone, his brain supplies) if he lets this cocky teen think he's the one in charge. He takes a breath and smothers a smirk of his own as he lifts his hands away, reaching for a towel to wipe them clean. Derek's face is puzzled when Stiles turns back to him and tugs the shorts back down to cover his thigh.

“Alright Hale, it looks like most of the balm is rubbed in, so I'm going to work on a few deep muscle massages and you should be good to go.” Stiles watches Derek start to open his mouth in protest before he gets his hands back on the teen, palms cupping his entire thigh on both sides and pushing upwards with a good level of pressure. The outer palm ends up curled around Derek's hip, while the inner pushes up into the joint connecting his thigh to his pelvis. Stiles feigns a concerned expression and starts massaging the joint, letting the back of his hand flex and push against Derek's cock and balls.

“Hmm, seems I was wrong, you seem awfully tense right here.” He massages for another minute before drawing back. “I can't seem to get at the source of the issue, you're gonna need to turn over.” Stiles moves around the table as Derek obeys, allowing a smile to grace his face when Derek can't see. It's gone by the time Derek's settled on his stomach, legs spread again to give Stiles access, face turned to watch him. Stiles resumes the same position he'd been in, palms cupping and applying pressure as he pushes them up Derek's thigh, repeating the motion as he pretends to work out the tension. He lets his hand brush against Derek every time he finishes his upward sweep, sees the shifting Derek's doing trying to get more pressure on his cock. 

“I think we're gonna need to reapply the balm.” He murmurs it, as if speaking to himself, but grabs the vaseline instead. When he's back at the table, he taps Derek's hip, telling him to lift a bit, and slides the shorts down Derek's body, stripping them off completely and licking his lips at the sight of the elastic bands of the jockstrap framing his surprisingly hairy ass. He also doesn't miss the slight groan Derek makes when the cooler air hits his body, the twitch of his ass cheek as he lays back down, legs spreading even further apart. For show's sake, Stiles coats his palms in the vaseline and works up Derek's thigh again, only he doesn't stop this time when he reaches hip and groin, instead smoothing his hands sideways, letting the jelly ease the way as he squeezes and rubs at Derek's cheeks. He pulls them slightly apart before releasing, watching them bounce a bit as they smack back together. It's entrancing and he does it a few more times, noticing how Derek's rocking his hips softly into the table beneath him. Stiles smiles and pulls them apart again, trailing one finger down Derek's crack, watching his furry hole wink as his finger crosses over it, not stopping until he's dragged it over the jock covered balls.

“I think I found the source of all of your tension.” Stiles angles himself a little better and starts massaging Derek's ass in earnest, letting his fingers dip close to his hole with every new grab, rubbing down his crack. He does it a few times before carefully leaning over and pursing his lips, blowing cool air over Derek's center. The moan it elicits is loud, and Stiles can't help but smile before leaning over more, giving in and swiping his tongue from Derek's jock all the way up his crack, lapping at his hole. 

“Fuck!” Derek's shout is startling in the relative quiet of the locker room and Stiles pulls back to shush him.

“Quiet, we wouldn't want to get caught.” Derek nods and Stiles moves, crawling up onto the table and settling between Derek's legs, encouraging him to get up on his elbows and knees. Stiles settles between Derek's calves and dips his head back down, spreading Derek's cheeks and placing a sloppy kiss directly on his twitching hole, tongue swirling through the fine hairs, mouth watering and coating Derek's ass. He licks and slurps and sucks until Derek is grinding his hips backwards trying to get Stiles’ tongue deeper, drawing away just enough to fumble a hand out for the tub of vaseline, coating his fingers in it as he drags it closer. He's careful when he slides one up, circling Derek's hole with it, scrunching his nose up when his still moving tongue hits it. 

“Is this okay?” It's the first time he's been tentative since he decided to take back control of this encounter. 

“Yes, please…” Derek's voice trails off into a moan when Stiles takes him at his word, pushing his finger in alongside his tongue, slowly working it in and out, gently stretching while he continues to eat him out. It isn't long before he can add a second, then a third finger, scissoring them open, relishing the way Derek can't stop moving, body rocking down against where he's being breached. Stiles has just moved his hand away to get more vaseline when Derek spins in place, pinning him to the table, meaty thighs trapping Stiles’ between them, hands scrabbling at the button of Stiles’ jeans. Stiles reaches down to...help, stop him, he's not really sure...but Derek just smacks his hands away and finally undoes Stiles’ pants, reaching in and drawing his leaking cock out. Between one breath and the next, Derek's scooped up a bit of the jelly and smeared it on Stiles’ length and then he's lining Stiles up with his hole, sitting down in one swift move that has Stiles thunking his head back against the table and Derek moaning out so loudly that anyone in the locker room would definitely have heard if it hadn't been empty.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Stiles can feel Derek trembling above him, feel the clench and release of his ass around Stiles’ cock. He bites his lip and runs soothing hands up Derek's sides, brain temporarily offline from it all. He's only slightly better prepared when Derek takes a deep breath and braces his hands on Stiles’ chest, slowly lifting himself up and dropping back down. It feels amazing, and Stiles can't decide where to focus, eyes flitting between Derek's face, mouth slack as he bounces on Stiles’ cock, and back down to watch the way Derek's ass is sliding up and down his own length. It only takes him a few minutes to get tired of being passive though, and his hands fit themselves against the groove of Derek's hips, feet planting onto the table, knees bent to give him leverage. The next time Derek lifts up, Stiles stops him from dropping back down, holds him in place and drives his own hips up. The angle is better than he anticipated, if the startled 'o’ of Derek's mouth is anything to go by, so he does his best to keep at a rhythm, trying not to shift and lose it. It isn't long before Derek's shifting and writhing in his grip, giving himself enough leverage to slam down for every upward thrust of Stiles’ hips, the sounds of skin slapping loud in the echoing room. 

Derek has enough wits to shove Stiles’ shirt up before he comes, painting Stiles’ abs in creamy white even as Stiles continues fucking up into him. And Stiles, for his part, tries to drag Derek all the way up and off his dick before he blows his own load, but the second he babbles that he's close, Derek is perking up, riding Stiles' harder than he'd done before, ass clenching in rhythm with his downward thrusts, and it's too much. Stiles tries to warn him again, but the teen doesn't care, just drops down again and grinds while tightening and relaxing his hole, pushing Stiles' over until he's pulsing out his release inside of Derek. It's not like they'd been having safe sex to begin with, but he feels far more guilty suddenly about it all when he finishes coming. He's startled out of his spiraling thoughts when Derek drops down enough to press kisses to his lips.

“Stop, stop apologizing. I wanted it. I want it.” It takes a minute for Derek's voice to break through the haze, for Stiles to realizes he was saying it all out loud. When he does, when he finally stops trying to apologize, Derek smiles at him softly, all traces of the arrogant kid he's used to gone, and backs off, slipping off the table and retrieving his shorts, dragging them back on. Stiles sits too, movements jerky and unsure in a way he hasn't been for years, but Derek slips between his knees before Stiles can do or say anything else. His hands are warm as he tucks Stiles’ cock back away, righting his pants before cupping his face and planting a gentle kiss on him, tongue gently probing Stiles’ lips until he gives way and parts them. The kiss is warm and wet, but surprisingly soft considering all that just happened. 

“Hey.” Derek's smile is intoxicating, eyes sparkling with happiness, and Stiles can't help but smile back despite his reservations. “I want this, I want you.” Derek presses in with another kiss when Stiles opens his mouth to protest. He doesn't stop him, though he knows he should. He takes a shuddering breath when Derek draws back, the question on his face.

“Okay, okay.” Stiles gives in, like he's done all afternoon. He shouldn't, for so many reasons, but he knows he's not strong enough to resist the beautiful boy in front of him, won't ever be strong enough. He pulls Derek back in for one last kiss, another murmured agreement against Derek's lips. There's a gnawing fear deep inside, a part of him that knows this is too risky, but the bigger part of him doesn't care, doesn't want to deny what he's been feeling for months now, so he pushes the worry away, hopes it won't come back to bite him in the ass later.

“Next time, I get to top.” Derek says it with the cocky lilt to his voice that Stiles is more used to, punctuates it with a nip to Stiles’ bottom lip, and he's helpless to do anything but agree.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://dirtyknots.tumblr.com), my askbox is always open if you'd like to leave your own prompt!


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